Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
ROXANNE WALKED into Harry’s office Monday morning and flung the check for ten thousand dollars on his desk.
“That should cover the expenses for my gala that you’ve been fronting for me.”
Dr. Oki sat in the chair opposite the desk.
“Got anything for me besides bills?” She folded her arms.
“Yeah. More warnings. Penelope’s been talking to Dr. Evans, my spies tell me. Trying to put pressure on him to stop the special fund for the research. He hasn’t said anything to me, though. I think he’s reluctant to stop money from flowing in—no matter what the source,” Harry said.
“You should be concentrating more on saving yourself from Penelope. She’s got a lot of power,” Dr. Oki said, frowning. Unusual for him.
“I’m doing all I can. I’ve got a lawyer. I’m not giving in. I won’t let her win this one. This fund-raising project is going to reach its goal. There’s too much riding on it.” She thought of Lindy. She shuddered in spite of her brave words.
“I have to tell you something else…” Harry began, then paused, looking like he ate something bad.
“Out with it, Harry.”
“There was a man here asking questions of some of the staff around this office and others…”
“Let me guess. He was a reporter and he wanted to know if I was really a fortune hunter?”
“No. He wasn’t a reporter. He claimed he was but I had him checked out—you know I know most of the people in the media around these parts.
And that’s not the most disturbing part, Rox.
His questions were in a different vein. Seems Dr. Evans led him to believe there was something suspicious about the way you administered money.
He asked a lot of questions about this fund-raising project—and about your personal life too, of course.
Rox, rumors take on a life of their own. You—we—could be in big trouble.”
“I’ll let Al know about this. You think Dr. Evans is up to something?”
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of that baloney. You should be more worried about this investigation into Don’s death.”
“Unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about Penelope’s persistence in trying to pin a murder charge on me. My best defense—my only defense—is the fact that I’m innocent. Al’s on it. He’s having her PI dogged every step of the way.”
“I hate to get personal, Roxy,” Dr. Oki said, “but where are you getting the money to pay Al? This has to be costing a fortune in legal fees. And you gave away your fortune.” He shook his head.
Roxanne almost blushed at the question. And she never blushed. It was a sore spot becoming sorer by the minute. She hated relying on Al. She didn’t want to rely on any man. She didn’t want to have to depend on a man for her welfare, in spite of what people thought.
She learned long ago from dear Dad—who hadn’t taught her much else—that she’d best depend on herself.
It wasn’t the money necessarily that bothered her.
Roxanne knew she’d find a way to pay that back eventually.
It was the wear and tear on her previously pleasant relationship with Al that bothered her. She didn’t want it completely ruined.
“I’ll pay him every cent eventually.” She couldn’t think about when that might be.
“Don’t worry. We’ll see you through this, eh, Tim?” Harry said and looked at the doctor.
“Penelope Boswell picked a fight with the wrong woman,” Dr. Oki said. “You have a lot of friends, Roxy, and we’re not going to stand by and watch her take shots at you. If we can help in any way at all—you just name it.”
She didn’t deserve them. She had little to give in return. All she could do for these men was the best possible job she could on her fund-raising campaign. She would not let them down. With more determination than ever, she left the office.
Laura had mentioned earlier that someone new called from Mark’s office. Laura had asked about Mark but they were vague and said something about a leave of absence.
Roxanne badly wanted to call Mark. On the drive home she eyed her cell phone, but didn’t dare punch in his number.
He’d made it clear they could not be friends.
He deserved for her to respect his wishes.
He deserved someone who could love him. Roxanne was not that woman.
She doubted she would ever be that woman for any man.
She didn’t want to be like her mother, bound to someone she didn’t love—she’d already tried that.
But she didn’t want to be like Bonnie, old and alone.
There seemed to be no choice for her in between.
***
After she arrived home she found herself wandering around the big house alone.
She stopped in the kitchen and looked at her Celtics schedule to see that they had an away game.
Calling Brian was out. She thought of calling Al, but for what?
She didn’t want to lose his friendship the way she’d lost Mark’s, and she was stretching it to the limit as it was.
Bonnie was out at Vegas night with a group of seniors at the church. She always said it made her feel young to hang around with them, never admitting that she was a senior herself. And Laura was with Dr. Oki. Again tonight. That brought a smile to her face in spite of her mood.
At ten thirty Roxanne decided to go to bed early. She lay in bed and watched the news. The last thing she heard before falling asleep was that the Celtics lost to Detroit.
***
Her house was almost unrecognizable, Roxanne thought as she stood on the threshold of the seldom-used great room.
Normally the room’s size was intimidating.
Tonight the giant Christmas tree, cascaded with white and silver ornaments, dominated the space and gave it the right proportion.
It towered toward the twelve-foot ceiling, touching it with the tip of its star.
The air smelled rich with the scent of pine.
All around the room, evergreen garlands, holly, poinsettias and mistletoe hung.
Roxanne sighed. She felt like a stranger walking into someone else’s holiday wonderland.
Standing with her hands on her hips and nodding, she watched Bonnie place a dish of chocolates wrapped in red and green foil.
“I’m glad I had the caterer take charge of the decorating. I couldn’t have done it this beautifully,” Roxanne said. She felt she had to justify the extravagance to Bonnie who had chided her on the expense.
“It’s lovely, but it ain’t worth a five carat diamond-studded Rolex. Face it, we can’t afford to stay here and you wanted to go out of this house with a bang.” Bonnie shook her head, looking around.
“Shhh.” Roxanne walked into the room. “The caterer’s help will hear you.
They’re only in the next room.” She waved her hand in the direction of the dining room where they were setting up a buffet.
“When in Rome, I always say. Besides, it didn’t cost that much for the decorating.
I spent some of the money on my dress and other things. ”
Roxanne felt good about this party. In spite of a rocky beginning, her annual gala benefit would turn out well. In the face of Penelope’s best efforts to blackball the event, Roxanne still managed to sell more than enough tickets to justify the cost.
“Better be some crankin’ dress. Too bad you don’t have any jewelry to wear with it,” Bonnie snorted.
They both laughed at the irony and Roxanne decided it was time to go upstairs and dress.
She turned and looked at the room over her shoulder.
The warm inviting glow of the soft light melted her.
She loved this room tonight. She embraced the notion that it was hers.
She would cherish that thought. She needed to.
It would be the last Christmas party she would ever throw here. Or possibly anywhere.
Laura arrived well ahead of the scheduled time and Roxanne came down finally dressed at six thirty.
“Wow, you look gorgeous,” Laura said.
“I have to say, that is some crankin’ dress,” Bonnie admitted.
“Thanks, ladies. Coming from my two worst critics that means a lot.”
They laughed. She knew they were going easy on her, because the dress, a silver sequined number with a plunging neck, plunging back and high side slit, was typically flashy, typically flattering and typically a tiny bit risqué. She was sure neither of them approved at all. She sighed.
They checked out the preparations in the kitchen around them.
Roxanne answered questions from the caterer about where the bar and food should go and who should answer the door.
There were five servers for the evening and two bartenders.
Roxanne wondered if she needed another bartender.
Ten seconds after they’d decided who would be taking invitations at the door, the bell rang.
“Who will be hosting the event with you for the evening?” the caterer asked.
“No one. I’ll play hostess alone.” She answered the doorbell.
“Harry, come in. You’re just in time. You can be the host. Mr. Miller, the caterer insists we have a host as well as a hostess.” Roxanne looked back at the man and winked. He gave her an approving nod.
Bonnie took Harry’s invitation and coat.
“Be glad to help. Do I get a drink first?”
“I’ll get you one. Let me know when Tim…Dr. Oki arrives,” Laura said, heading toward the bar.
By nine-thirty most of the guests she’d been expecting had arrived, including John Benson, the Celtics coach, and Dave McCall and his wife.
The man taking invitations and coats was on a break when the doorbell rang unexpectedly.
Roxanne strolled through the crowded room to the front hall and opened the door with a smile to find Brian Dennis towering before her in a black tux, bow tie and coat draped over his arm.
He whistled without saying a word, stepped inside, threw his coat over the banister and took her in his arms.
“Man, are you a vision,” he murmured. Then he covered her mouth with his before she could catch her breath from the surprise of his embrace.